Sunday's Child
by spamtotz
Summary: Phoebe was just being neighborly. Ms. Reilly was just lonely. Together they'll delve into a story hidden away in an old woman's broken heart.
1. Starting Now

_Mondays child is fair of face, Tuesdays child is full of grace, Wednesdays child is full of woe, Thursdays child has far to go, Fridays child is loving and giving, Saturdays child works hard for her living, and the child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe, and good and gay._

Chapter 1: Starting Now

On a cool autumn morning an elderly woman sat in an ugly flower patterned armchair, shrouded in a thick shawl to ward off a pervasive chill that had plagued her for the majority of her life. The woman, a Ms. Reilly, lived alone in a ramshackle, old house and was rarely seen outside.

Ms. Reilly and her dilapidated home mystified the residents of Chipping Clodbury. Those that could remember back far enough might have told you, at one time or another, the house had been an orphanage… But that had been over eighty years ago.

Every so often, Ms. Reilly's closest neighbor, Phoebe Sloane, would walk over and fix Ms. Reilly some tea and keep her company. Phoebe was an attractive young woman with a cheerful disposition, but Ms. Reilly always caught a certain sense of loneliness radiating from Phoebe, which could be why the two got along so well.

Ms. Reilly was staring out a grimy window, pondering the whereabouts of her wand, when a knock came at the door.

A young woman entered and greeted Ms. Reilly warmly.

"Hello Ms. Reilly. How are you today?"

"How many times must I tell you to call me Nora?"

"Probably every time you see me," Phoebe said smartly. The grin she wore faded as she glanced around the room. "Ms. Reilly, what have you been doing? Forgive me, but this place is a mess."

Ms. Reilly smiled dourly. "Just some spring cleaning."

"It's July."

"I hadn't noticed."

Phoebe snorted. The woman was playing games with her, again. A feisty woman, even in her old age, Ms. Reilly rarely passed up a moment for her biting sarcasm.

Phoebe was a little fuzzy on the subject of her neighbor. When she had arrived in Chipping Clodbury several months before, she had been warned against the cross witch that lived by herself. There was never a specific reason to accompany the warning, but Phoebe had ignored the gossips. Always one of curious mindset, she had walked over straight away to meet this grumpy old crone. Frankly, elderly witches and wizards fascinated her.

And Ms. Reilly was no exception. She was friendly enough to Phoebe, but doled out little information about herself, usually inquiring about wizarding affairs, and if caught in a good mood, Phoebe's status. Mostly asking why she spent her time with a crotchety old woman, to which Phoebe gave no answer because she didn't know herself.

"If you're spring cleaning in July, and no apparent cleaning has been done –"

Ms. Reilly scowled at Phoebe.

"Then you must be looking for something." Phoebe looked delighted at her conclusion. Ms. Reilly's scowl deepened. "What is it you're looking for? Maybe I can help."

"Don't get all excited, I'm only trying to find some old pictures."

Phoebe frowned in confusion. "You mean all of this," she gestured vaguely at the mess behind her, "is for some old pictures?"

"A picture album actually."

Phoebe sat down in another armchair and sank slightly into it. "Why don't you just summon it?"

Ms. Reilly frowned at Phoebe's impertinent tone. "I have temporarily misplaced my wand, and besides, I am looking for a particular album."

"Why?"

Ms. Reilly sat up, a strange shine in her eyes. "None of your business," she muttered, almost too quiet for Phoebe to hear.

"I'd like to help," Phoebe said after a moment, "if you wouldn't mind."

Ms. Reilly sat in her chair, looking disgruntled, but reacted agreeably to Phoebe's benevolent tone and grumpily consented. "Very well."

"But first," Phoebe added, "how about a nice cup of tea?"

Ms. Reilly paused, considering Phoebe's proposition. "That would be excellent," she said, her good mood restored. She grabbed a gnarled cane and hobbled over to the kitchen table. Phoebe readied the tea and brought out two chipped teacups, as was the usual routine. She sat next to Ms. Reilly, who calmly sipped her tea.

"Where should I start?" Phoebe asked practically.

Ms. Reilly mulled this over for a moment and gave Phoebe an appraising glance. "Try upstairs. I haven't been up there in years."

Phoebe chortled, thinking she was joking. Ms. Reilly's straight face indicated she wasn't. Phoebe glanced skeptically at the well-worn staircase, but agreed to search the upstairs rooms. She helped Ms. Reilly outside to the garden and sat her on a bench next to lilac bushes that sported old, brown flowers. Wrapped in a hideous afghan and within the sun's rays, Ms. Reilly's eyes closed and she began to snore lightly.

Phoebe smiled sadly at Ms. Reilly. She tiptoed away from the sleeping woman, managing to trip over a large stone, which, oddly enough, resembled a small chair. Hands stinging, Phoebe walked back to the house and cleaned up the kitchen. She looked curiously at the stairs, wondering if they could actually support her weight. She pushed on the first stair with her foot and although it gave a horrendous creak, it did not snap under the sudden pressure. Phoebe climbed the stairs; each one uttering equally ominous creaks as the first. She finally reached the top, astonished at how far they went up. The house didn't look so big from the outside.

Phoebe peeked in the first room and saw only a thick layer of dust and plain, metal frame beds. She guessed around ten, obvious evidence of the old orphanage. The second room held six more beds. But the third… the third room looked most promising. It contained shelves upon shelves of books. She crossed the threshold, daunted by the task that lay before her.

She quickly skimmed through some shelves, coming across such titles as _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and_ _Charmes _and _A Healer's Helpmate_, all looking as though they hadn't been touched in years, just as Ms. Reilly had said. Then she realized a photo album wouldn't have a title, so she skipped over everything that did. Phoebe pulled out numerous volumes, hoping one would contain any sign of pictures, but none did. An hour or so later she was surrounded by wobbly stacks of books and was ready to give up. There was only one shelf left. Phoebe reached and pulled out three untitled books.

The first had a suspicious stain on the front cover, but Phoebe opened it anyway, just to make sure. It was written in a language she did not even attempt to identify and she returned it to its proper place on the shelf. The second was a slim scarlet volume, that when opened, roared at Phoebe and made her jump a foot into the air. That, she closed almost immediately and wedged it firmly between the shelf and a huge dictionary of spells. She could almost hear Ms. Reilly's snort of laughter.

Phoebe sighed and looked at the tiny book that rested on the dusty floor. It didn't look too promising and she despaired at ever finding the missing photo album. Phoebe gingerly lifted the cover, bracing for another roar, but was astonished to find a small key settled in the hollowed out book. She lifted the key out and blew off a layer of dust that seemed to cover everything in the second level. The key itself was the color of copper and had an intricate design that resembled a raven. Phoebe closed the book and put it back on the shelf, dropping the key in her pocket. She returned to the first floor, intending to ask Ms. Reilly what door the key opened, but a quick peek outside told her the old woman was still fast asleep on the bench.

Phoebe wandered through the first floor, trying to find a door that didn't open, and soon deduced that the locked door had to be elsewhere. Shaking her head, Phoebe walked back up the stairs, but this time stopped on the landing. She was sure she had opened the only rooms that were upstairs.

As she began to move upward, something caught her eye. On the wall next to her there was a peculiar outline. Almost in the shape of a … door. She ran her hand over the flawed wall, eyes straining to see the hairline crack.

Phoebe pulled out her faithful ivy wand, tapped the wall and said, "_Ianua Aperio!_" A line of light illuminated the crack in the wall and a gleaming door appeared. A stark contrast to the rest of the house, the door was bright and polished and the brassy doorknob reflected Phoebe's face clearly. Phoebe hesitantly stepped up to the brilliant door and fit the key into the lock, turning it until she heard a faint click. She pushed the door open and was shocked by what she found.

When Phoebe had first met Ms. Reilly, she had picked up on a peculiar sense of sadness in everything the old woman did, especially in her derision of just about everything. What lay behind the door seemed to contradict any assumptions Phoebe had previously made about her neighbor.

Phoebe walked in, dazed by the life that seemed to pulse through the room. It appeared to be the room of a child, or maybe a teenager, but certainly something that didn't belong in the house of an old woman who lived alone.

Posters of historical Quidditch players and old musical groups plastered the walls and a large desk sat in the corner, almost begging Phoebe to explore its insides. The room obviously had belonged to a Gryffindor student, as the house colors adorned every available surface.

Phoebe looked back out the shining door, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming… She wasn't. She walked around the bedroom, examining the posters on the walls and saw multiples of The Weird Sisters, Moontrimmer brooms, and the Holyhead Harpies. Next to the scarlet covered bed, a small table had an empty picture frame sitting atop it. Phoebe picked up the frame and saw an envelope flutter to the floor. She picked it up but did not read it, unwilling to waste more time. Phoebe then walked over to the desk. She was shaking in anticipation of what she might find. If a house could hide an entire room, what secrets would this desk contain?

She looked inside the first drawer and found books that were extremely familiar to her:

_Achievements in Charming: By Charisma McTavish_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection: By Quentin Tremble_

_Intermediate Transfiguration: By Emeric Switch_

_New Theory of Numerology: By Euclid De Luco _

_The Behavioral Patterns of Muggles: By Sylvia London_

Phoebe looked on the inside covers of each book, but there were no names in any. The second drawer only contained old quills and scraps of parchment. These too, Phoebe checked for any writing. The drawer in the middle of the desk was where Phoebe finally found her quarry. She gave a yelp of excitement when several photos fell out of the two albums she held in her hands. She put the albums on the desktop and bent down to pick up the fallen photographs. The people in the pictures were all merrily waving to Phoebe and she read off the back of one "James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus." The other said, "Alderton Children's Home."

Phoebe looked at the first picture and found that the boys seemed extremely familiar to her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she thought Ms. Reilly might explain everything once she woke up. Phoebe put the pictures in the covers of the albums and rummaged through the rest of the drawers and found several knuts, bird feathers, a set of bent scales, a grubby cauldron, and a rose, which looked like it would crumble in her hand.

After returning all of her findings, except the albums and the envelope, Phoebe exited the bedroom, taking the key out of the lock and closing the door. When she got back downstairs, she found Ms. Reilly had woken and was doodling in the dirt with the end of her cane. As soon as she heard Phoebe approaching, she smudged out whatever she had been drawing on the ground.

"Ms. Reilly," Phoebe said, "I found…these." She held out the two albums.

Phoebe saw the old woman's face light up and for a moment she looked young again. But the moment passed and Ms. Reilly resembled herself again: a lonely, cranky, old woman.

"Ms. Reilly, what are these? I found them in… well I don't know where I found them actually. There was a room…"

"Yes that would be my room."

"Your room? I thought you said you hadn't been –"

"I haven't," Ms. Reilly said, cutting Phoebe off.

"Who are the people in these pictures Ms. Reilly?"

"No one."

"If they are no one, why keep them? Maybe I should just…" She pulled out one of the photos and began to rip at one of the corners. Phoebe was tired of Ms. Reilly's rudeness and wanted to find out what she had been searching all afternoon for. This was the only way she knew how to make Ms. Reilly tell her what she wanted to know.

"Stop!"

Phoebe raised an eyebrow, but put the picture back.

Ms. Reilly sighed. "Give them to me."

"No."

"No?"

"If I give them to you, you won't tell me what they are and why you have a vanishing room and why the key was hidden in a book and why you live here by yourself and why a book roared at me."

Ms. Reilly gave Phoebe a small smirk. "You're probably right…"

Phoebe sighed. "Ms. Reilly, assuming the rumors in the village are true…"

"Who do you think started them?" Ms. Reilly asked sardonically.

Phoebe wasn't really surprised. "Yes, well assuming they are true, you haven't had any visitors in years and years and from what I can tell you are an extremely bitter, crabby woman. So why don't you just tell me what's going on and you and I can stop pretending you are a normal witch."

Ms. Reilly was speechless at first. Phoebe had rarely showed this much persistence and tenacity. "Very well, but first I think you should make us some supper."

Phoebe's eyebrows rose. She had expected more of an argument from Ms. Reilly, not a demand to make her food. "Yes, that sounds fair." She walked over to Ms. Reilly's bench and handed her the two photo albums.

"This is going to take a bit of time, so you'll probably end up staying late."

"Excellent."

Ms. Reilly smiled tightly and watched Phoebe walk to the kitchen. She cracked open one of the albums and looked at the topmost picture. A young girl with bronze hair was smiling, but seemed to be distracted by someone or something beyond the pictures. She closed the album quickly and hard, unwilling to let the memories completely wash over her. She had a long story to tell and she didn't want to delve in quite yet. She had a supper to eat after all.

After Phoebe had cleared up the food, she and Ms. Reilly sat in the warm sitting room; all the while Ms. Reilly clutching the albums in her hands. Once they were all settled, Phoebe asked, "All right, now what is all this about?"


	2. Little Bird

Chapter 2: Little Bird

_So tell me, little bird _

_All of the good things that you've heard _

_Cause I need you, little bird _

_To sing me a sweet song. - Brooke White_

Ms. Reilly cleared her throat. "The beginning I am not overly familiar with. I am telling you what someone told me, years after the fact."

Phoebe nodded eagerly.

* * *

"Helen, do hurry!"

A woman, undoubtedly Helen, wobbled up the lane to a rundown building in desperate need of some paint and repairs in general. In her arms, she carried a small baby, wriggling around in the blankets. Helen tried to calm the child, but only succeeded in stumbling. A portly man caught her and set her right, before leading her back to the building. As they neared the cracked stoop, tears began to trickle down Helen's face.

"We can't do this to her Augustus. What would her parents think?"

Augustus squeezed her shoulder comfortingly.

"This is the best thing for her right now. She'll be safest here. What if something happened to us? Where would she go? She has no family left – not real family anyway." He shivered at the thought.

Helen paused for a moment, "You're right, of course." She wrapped the blankets more securely around the baby and sighed. "I wonder what will happen to her."

Augustus shrugged. "Whoever is in charge here will look after her. And Venetia will watch out for her, when she's older."

"We can only hope."

Augustus reached out and knocked lightly on the door. A moment passed and a light flicked on inside. Helen and Augustus could hear locks clicking and an old woman appeared in the doorway. She readjusted her moldy, purple bathrobe and yawned.

"Can I… Can I help you?" she stuttered as she yawned again.

Helen held out the baby, but said nothing. The woman cleaned her thick, horn-rimmed glasses, put them back on the bridge of her nose, and took a better look at the baby.

"Girl or boy?"

"Girl," answered Helen.

"Does she have a name?"

Augustus shook his head. "The parents never gave a name."

"You're not the parents then?"

Helen glanced at the baby. "No."

The old woman squinted suspiciously at Augustus and Helen, but seemed to conclude nothing. "Very well," she said in a business like manner, "I'll take her then."

Helen hesitated and looked at the baby once more before saying, more to herself than Augustus, "This is the last time we'll see her."

He nodded in agreement, although he did not seem as upset as Helen. He looked around nervously and bobbed his head at the woman.

"Anything special I should know about her?"

Helen looked up sharply and Augustus glared at her.

"In case she asks questions in the future I mean."

Helen shook her head. "No, nothing special."

The old woman nodded and lifted the baby from Helen's arms. She started to turn away when Helen grabbed a sleeve of her bathrobe.

"Wait. There is ––," she said as she fumbled in a pocket. "There is this." Helen held out a crumpled photograph.

"Helen!"

"She needs something Augustus. She'll ask so many questions, like," she paused and glanced at the matron in the doorway, "like her parents."

She handed the photo to the woman who looked at it. "Who are they?"

"Her mother and father."

The matron tucked the photo in her own pocket, nodded goodnight and closed the door behind her. Helen let out a muffled sob and brushed away the tears falling from her eyes.

"Pull yourself together Helen."

"Don't you feel the least bit guilty for what we've done?"

Augustus considered the question. "Yes, but think what might've happened if we had left her there."

The two unconsciously shuddered. Augustus put his arm around Helen. "She'll be fine." Helen nodded in agreement and the two slowly walked away. On their way out, they passed a sign swinging from the branches of a tree. The paint was faded and chipped, but legible. It read 'Alderton Children's Home.'

The old woman watched the pair walk away and muttered under her breath about inconsiderate youth. She took the baby and gently placed her in a broken cradle. As was the case with everything in and surrounding the orphanage, the cradle was in dire need of repair. The woman gave the baby a bottle of warm mooncalf milk and watched her eyes close, though she tried to fight it off. After the baby was asleep, the woman pulled the bottle from her grasp and tucked a soft blanket around her.

She opened the room next door to the nursery and checked on the girls. All was well. In the boy's room, one snored quietly and another hugged his stuffed puffskein close.

This woman, who diligently looked after the orphaned children, was called Mrs. Finley. Mrs. Finley was a genial soul. She viewed the children as her own and always had mixed feelings when one of them found a family. Mrs. Finley had snow-white hair and large spectacles that made her eyes look several times larger than they actually were… and Mrs. Finley was a witch.

When September 1st came along, Mrs. Finley accompanied all of the students to Platform 9 ¾. She always had several older students that helped shepherd the younger ones to the correct compartments, so she never worried… much.

Mrs. Finley shuffled back to her room and flipped the light off, but she did not fall asleep easily. The pair that brought the baby had not given a name; she didn't even know when the child's birthday was. So now Mrs. Finley had to come up with something. That was the part she hated the most. She was an old lady, how in the name of Merlin's lengthy silver beard was she supposed to come up with a name for a baby girl?

The next morning Mrs. Finley woke to heavy breathing. She opened her eyes and saw a small boy standing at the bedside. She groped for her eyeglasses and smiled when the boy held them out for her. Her smile diminished as she realized they were covered in sticky jam.

"What is it, Crispin?"

"That baby is crying."

Mrs. Finley massaged her temples. "Which baby, Crispin? There are three."

Crispin wiped at his runny nose. "The new one."

Mrs. Finley grabbed her purple bathrobe and headed to the nursery. Crispin followed, very preoccupied with licking the jam off his fingers. As Mrs. Finley entered the room, she saw that several older children had circled around the cradle.

"She's turning blue," one said.

Another clamped her hands over her ears. "I've never heard a baby scream that loud before."

"You've never heard a baby with dragon pox." After years of taking care of children, Mrs. Finley knew the signs. "All of you get out… except Cam."

"Why does she get to stay?" one of the boys asked impertinently.

"She's the only one who's had dragon pox before. Now get out unless you want it too."

The three scurried out of the room and nearly ran over Crispin who was watching from the doorway.

Cam rolled up her sleeves. "What's her name?"

"I'm not sure yet."

* * *

"So you're an orphan?"

"Did I say that?" Ms. Reilly said with a fierce look.

"Well," said Phoebe, "I just assumed ––"

"Never presume to know anything about my life."

"But you are an orphan, aren't you?"

"In a manner of speaking..."

"All right, fine, so you're kind of an orphan," Phoebe said grumpily. "You mentioned this... this Helen gave Mrs. Finley a picture of your parents. Did you ever find out who they were?"

"I'll get to that eventually," Ms. Reilly answered huffily. "Anyway, a couple years later..."

* * *

Mrs. Finley sighed and pushed back her frizzy hair away from her face with the back of her floury hand. She had generously treated the children to a pancake breakfast, but almost everything in the shabby kitchen was covered in batter. Some of the children, Crispin being the most eager, had decided to _help_ Mrs. Finley with her cooking. Kip, a slight freckled boy, had managed to knock down the bowl of batter and splatter it everywhere. At present, there were about ten sitting around a scratched table, ravenously digging into a teetering pile of pancakes. One of Mrs. Finley's aides, Katie, was suspiciously watching them in the background.

"Mrs. Finley!" The old woman sighed. Alas, her work was never done.

A gangly girl with curly brown hair rounded the corner and managed to slip in the splattered batter and slid into a cupboard. Crispin, Kip and several others spewed their pancakes as they laughed at the scene. Mrs. Finley just shook her head and pulled the poor girl up from the floor. She scowled at the sniggering children.

"Yes, Anna?"

"Nora has gone outside again and she's climbed a tree."

Mrs. Finley laughed. "Again? Hasn't Cam gotten her down?"

Anna shook her head. "She won't come down, not even for Cam. She said she wanted to fly."

An older girl piped up from the table. "She knows there are such things as broomsticks, right?"

"Naomi, of course she does," Mrs. Finley said, "But she won't give up, you know how silly she gets sometimes."

"True," said Katie, from behind the table laughing. "I'll watch these hellions, you can go catch our little bird."

"Thank you Katie. Crispin," she said warningly, "_Behave_."

Naomi, who at 16, believed herself too old to be watched over, muttered under her breath. "Little indeed."

Crispin smiled angelically as Mrs. Finley exited the filthy kitchen, which, coming from a 16-year-old with a wand was very dangerous indeed.

The matron hurried out into the sunshine and found Cam, her other aide, shielding her eyes, while staring up into a large ash tree.

"Nora, please!" Cam said, yelling into the foliage.

A small voice answered, but Mrs. Finley couldn't make out what was said.

"Nora Reilly!" She yelled up, "Come down from there immediately!"

"Just a few more minutes, Mrs. Finley?"

"No!"

A disappointed sigh came from high above and slowly, ever so slowly, a small body inched down the tree. A girl finally dropped down from the limbs and brushed off her sweater.

"Morning, Mrs. Finley," she said brightly.

Mrs. Finley couldn't help but smile at the girl's enthusiasm. "Good morning to you, Nora." She immediately adopted her serious face. "Now Nora, how many times have I told you to –"

Nora sighed, "Too many times, Mrs. Finley."

"Yes, indeed, too many. You have to stop worrying people like that, especially today." Mrs. Finley began to walk away, knowing full well Nora would follow her out of curiosity.

"Why today? What are we doing today? Mrs. Finley?"

Cam smirked at the old woman's canniness.

Nora followed the matron into the front hall where two other children around Nora's age, Alexa and Edmund, were waiting. Both were sitting primly on a bench, lightly chattering to one another. Nora shrieked in excitement.

"We're going to Diagon Alley, aren't we?"

Crispin wandered in, chewing on a sandwich. "Jeez, Nora, screech a little louder, willya?"

Nora stuck her tongue out at him.

" Crispin, sit down and be quiet. Nora, clean yourself up. Go brush your hair and wash your face. You've got dirt..." Mrs. Finley tried to wipe the offending speck off, but Nora squirmed away.

"Ok, ok, I'll go."

Mrs. Finley intended to leave Katie with the five younger children at the orphanage and sent Cam ahead to begin the gargantuan task of buying books for the eight Hogwarts students currently housed at the orphanage.

By the time Nora had gotten cleaned up and presentable, Crispin had managed to set Alexa's hair on fire and push Edmund into the fireplace. Mrs. Finley had charmed his voice away, so when they all Flooed to Diagon Alley, he was pouting and glaring at everyone, unnerving the innocent shoppers.

This particular year, Nora was the only one to begin at Hogwarts and the only one who needed a wand. Unfortunately, the funds allotted to the orphanage by the Ministry wasn't enough to get Nora a wand from the fabled Mr. Ollivander. However, Nora was a determined child and had heard all sorts of stories about the eccentric wand-maker.


End file.
